by Jack Kilborn
“I loved Platoon.”
Donaldson nodded. “Well then, you were practically there in the rice paddies with me, going toe-to-toe with the Cong.”
He drank more soda. Lucy watched.
“Took some shrapnel in my hip in Ca Lu,” Donaldson said. “Nicked my sciatic nerve. Biggest nerve in the body. Pain sometimes gets so bad I can chew through a bath towel. Do you understand pain, little girl?”
“More so than you’d think.”
“So you should know, then, opiates and I are friends from way back.” Donaldson took a big pull off the soda. “So spiking my drink here hasn’t done much more than make me a little horny. Actually a lot horny.” Donaldson turned to Lucy. “You’re about as musical as I am Christian. So you want to tell me what your game is, or do I take you over my knee and spank you right now like the naughty girl you are?”
Lucy said, “It’s Oxycontin. Did they have that back in ’Nam, gramps? And you being one fat bastard, I squirted two hundred and fifty milligrams into your drink. I’m not some frat boy trying to roofie up a chunky freshman. I gave you the rhino dose.”
She tested the weight of the Styrofoam cup. “Jesus, you’ve already gone through half of it? I’m actually more concerned you’re going to die of a drug overdose instead of the fun I have planned.”
She reached across the seat and squeezed his leg. “Look, you will be losing consciousness shortly, so we don’t have much time. Pull the car over. I’d like to take you up on that spanking.”
Donaldson stared at her, blinked hard twice, and stomped the brake pedal.
Lucy’s seatbelt released and she slammed into the metal-reinforced dashboard. Donaldson shook his head, then swiped the zip tie from his pocket. He grabbed a handful of wool cap and the hair beneath it and yanked Lucy up off the floor. She fought hard, but weight and strength won out and he cinched her hands behind her back.
Donaldson glanced through the windshield, then checked the rearview mirror. Darkness.
Lucy laughed through her shattered nose and ran her tongue along her swollen upper lip and gums—two front teeth MIA.
Donaldson blinked and shook his head again. Pulled off the road onto the shoulder.
“We’re gonna have some fun, little girl,” he said. “And two hundred and fifty milligrams is like candy to me.”
He ran a clumsy paw across her breasts, squeezing hard, then turned his attention to the backseat.
The guitar case had two clasps, one on the body, one on the neck.
Donaldson slapped the left side of his face three times and then opened the case.
A waft of foulness seeped out of the velvet-lined guitar lid, although the contents didn’t seem to be the source—a length of chain. Four pairs of handcuffs. Three carabiners. Vials of liquid Oxycontin. Cutlery shears. A creepy-looking instrument with six blades at one end. A spotlight. A small spray bottle. Two coils of climbing rope. And a snowboarding helmet.
The front passenger door squeaked open and Donaldson spun around as Lucy fell backward out of the car. He lunged into her seat, but she kicked the door. It slammed into his face, his chin crunching his mouth closed, and as the door recoiled, he saw Lucy struggling onto her feet, her wrists still bound behind her back.
She disappeared into the woods.
Donaldson took a moment, fumbling for the door handle. He found it, but paused.
He adjusted the rearview mirror, grinning to see the blood between his teeth.
“Should we let this one go, sport? Or show the little missus that there are things a lot scarier than a guitar case full of bondage shit?”
Donaldson winked at his reflection, tugged out the keys, yanked up the brake, and shoved his door open. He weaved over to the trunk, a stupid grin on his face, got the right key in on the third try.
Among the bottles of bleach solution, the rolls of paper towels, the gas cans, and the baby wipes, Donaldson grabbed the only weapon an upstanding citizen could legally carry without harassment from law enforcement.
The tire iron clenched in his hand, he bellowed at the woods.
“I’m coming for you, Lucy! And there won’t be any drugs to dull your pain!”
He stumbled into the forest after her, his erection beginning to blossom.
***
She crouched behind a juniper tree, the zip tie digging into her wrists. Absolute darkness in the woods, nothing to see, but everything to hear.
Donaldson yelled, “Don’t hide from me, little girl! It’ll just make me angry!”
His heavy footsteps crunched in the leaves. Lucy eased down onto her butt and leaned back, legs in the air, then slid her bound wrists up the length of them. Donaldson stumbled past her tree, invisible, less than ten feet away.
“Lucy? Where are you?” His words slurred. “I just wanna talk.”
“I’m over here, big boy! Still waiting for that spanking!”
His footsteps abruptly stopped. Dead quiet for thirty seconds, and then the footsteps started up again, heading in her general direction.
“Oh, no, please,” she moaned. “Don’t hurt me, Donaldson. I’m so afraid you’ll hurt me.”
He was close now, and she turned and started back toward the road, her hands out in front of her to prevent collision with a tree.
A glint of light up ahead—the Honda’s windshield catching a piece of moonlight.
Lucy emerged from the woods, her hands throbbing from circulation loss. She stumbled into the car and turned around to watch the treeline.
“Come on, big boy! I’m right here! You can make it!”
Donaldson staggered out of the woods holding a tire iron, and when the moon struck his eyes, they were already half-closed.
He froze.
He opened his mouth to say something, but fell over instead, dropping like an old, fat tree.
***
Donaldson opened his eyes and lifted his head. Dawn and freezing cold. He lay in weeds at the edge of the woods, his head resting in a padded helmet. His wrists had been cuffed, hands purple from lack of blood flow, and his ankles were similarly bound. He was naked and glazed with dew, and as the world came into focus, he saw that one of those carabiners from Lucy’s guitar case had been clipped to his ankle cuffs. A climbing rope ran from that carabiner to another carabiner, which was clipped to a chain which was wrapped around the trailer hitch of his Honda.
The driver-side door opened and Lucy got out, walked down through the weeds. She came over and sat on his chest, giving him a missing-toothed smile.
“Morning, Donaldson. You of all people will appreciate what’s about to happen.”
Donaldson yawned, then winked at her. “Aren’t you just the prettiest thing to wake up to?”
Lucy batted her eyelashes.
“Thank you. That’s sweet. Now, the helmet is so you don’t die too fast. Head injuries ruin the fun. We’ll go slow in the beginning. Barely walking speed. Then we’ll speed up a bit when we get you onto asphalt. The last ones screamed for five miles. They where skeletons when I finally pulled over. But you’re so heavy, I think you just might break that record.”
“I have some bleach spray in the trunk,” Donaldson said. “You might want to spritz me with that first, make it hurt even more.”
“I prefer lemon juice, but it’s no good until after the first half mile.”
Donaldson laughed.
“You think this is a joke?”
He shook his head. “No. But when you have the opportunity to kill, you should kill. Not talk.”
Donaldson sat up, quick for a man his size, and rammed his helmet into Lucy’s face. As she reeled back, he caught her shirt with his swollen hands and rolled on top of her, his bulk making her gasp.
“The keys,” he ordered. “Undo my hands, right now.”
Lucy tried to talk, but her lungs were crushed. Donaldson shifted and she gulped in some air.
“In…the…guitar case…”
“That’s a shame. That means you die right here. Personally, I thin
k suffocation is the way to go. All that panic and struggle. Dragging some poor sap behind you? Where’s the fun in that? Hell, you can’t even see it without taking your eyes off the road, and that’s a dangerous way to drive, girl.”
Lucy’s eyes bulged, her face turning scarlet.
“Poc…ket.”
“Take your time. I’ll wait.”
Lucy managed to fish out the handcuff keys. Donaldson shifted again, giving her a fraction more room, and she unlocked a cuff from one of his wrists.
He winced, his face getting mean.
“Now let me tell you about the survival of the fittest, little lady. There’s a…”
The chain suddenly jerked, tugging Donaldson across the ground. He clutched Lucy.
“Where are the car keys, you stupid bitch?”
“In the ignition…”
“You didn’t set the parking brake! Give me the handcuff key!”
The car crept forward, beginning to pick up speed as it rolled quietly down the road.
The skin of Donaldson’s right leg tore against the ground, peeling off, and the girl pounded on him, fighting to get away.
“The key!” he howled, losing his grip on her. He clawed at her waist, her hips, and snagged her foot.
Lucy screamed when the cuff snicked tightly around her ankle.
“No! No no no!” She tried to sit up, to work the key into the lock, but they hit a hole and it bounced from her grasp.
They were dragged off the dirt and onto the road.
Lucy felt the pavement eating through her trench coat, Donaldson in hysterics as it chewed through the fat of his ass, and the car still accelerating down the five-percent grade.
At thirty miles per hour, the fibers of Lucy’s trench coat were sanded away, along with her camouflage panties, and just as she tugged a folding knife out of her pocket and began to hack at the flesh of her ankle, the rough county road began to grind through her coccyx.
She dropped the knife and they screamed together for two of the longest miles of their wretched lives, until the road curved and the Honda didn’t, and the car and Lucy and Donaldson all punched together through a guardrail and took the fastest route down the mountain.
Here’s another old story that I eventually rewrote to flesh it out a bit. It’s an epistolary peace, entirely done as journal entries written by a teen girl. I revisited the epistolary form for a section in an upcoming Jack Kilborn book.
Sept 15
Dear Diary,
First day of school! I hope this doesn’t turn into a repeat of last year, when Sue Ellen Derbin and Margaret “Superbitch” Dupont decided to try and kick me off of Pom-Pons. When I think about all those things they said about me it makes me soooo mad! Who cares if my parents never had a lot of money or anything, and so what if I don’t have any stupid designer clothes, I’m still a better person than them. They were so jealous of my blonde hair and blue eyes and my heritage. I hated those phonies soooo much!!! It’s so nice they don’t bother me anymore.
My schedule is English, Algebra, Biology, Lunch, Gym, History, Art, and Music. It’s nice to finally be an eighth grader and get the classes I want. But I still don’t want to be here, and if I ever have kids I’ll let them decide if they want to go school or not. I don’t care if it’s a law, the law stinks and so does school!!!
But it’s not all bad. Robert Collins is in my math class and he’s sooooo cute! He’s got the best butt I’ve ever seen on a thirteen-year-old, and when he smiles with those dimples I sincerely want to die! We got to choose our own seats and I sat next to him. Tomorrow I’ll wear more perfume and see if he notices.
Sept 16
Dear Diary,
Pom-Pon tryouts were today, and I’m Captain of the first squad! With Sue Ellen and Margret Superbitch gone, it was waaaaay too easy. Debbie Baker made squad two leader, and I could tell she was pissed that I beat her out. Tough titties, Deb!!!
But even better than that, Robert commented that he liked my perfume today! I wore a little extra, and while we were doing our problems he wrote me a note that said “Is that you who smells so good?” I almost died, right there in class.
I know I’m going to save that note forever.
Then I did something that was totally unlike me. I asked him if he was still going out with Pam Escher. He said no, Pam was now dating Stu Dorman. It seems Stu dumped Melissa for Pam and Pam dumped poor Robert. I feel bad for him, but not for me. Wouldn’t it be great if he asked me out?
Sept 17
Dear Diary,
HE ASKED ME OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I couldn’t believe it. We were done checking our homework and he leaned over so his lips were almost touching my ear and asked if I wanted to go out after school! So I skipped Pom-Pon practice and we walked over to Barro’s Pizza and shared a small pepperoni. I didn’t actually eat any, because of my special diet, but he didn’t notice. We talked a lot about school and about how everyone is too concerned about appearance rather than being real and he told me about his family that came from New York and I told him that my family actually came from Scandinavian. He was super intelligent and serious. I never would have guessed he was so smart because he’s so cute. I wonder if he’ll be THE ONE. He’s so cute it would be great if he was.
Sept 18
Dear Diary,
I got in BIG trouble for skipping Pom-Pon practice. Debbie Baker kept sucking up to Mrs. Meaker, saying how I shouldn’t be squad captain if I didn’t show up. The little bitch. Mrs. Meaker didn’t say much, other than I had to make sure I didn’t miss it again.
Robert and I passed notes back and forth during math. Nothing lovey-dovey, just talk because math is sooooo boring. I wish he had the same lunch period as I did. He said he would ask me out again after school but he has football practice. I told him I had Pom-Pons, and maybe we could meet after. He said great. But my practice ran late (practicing Debbie’s stupid new drills) so when I got to Barro’s he wasn’t there. I hope he isn’t mad.
Sept 19
Dear Diary,
Robert looked hurt in Math today, but I wrote him a note in English to explain everything and when he read it he forgave me. He asked me out again after school, and I agreed, even though I would miss another practice. Practicing five times a week is too much, if you ask me. We met at Barro’s and got another pepperoni (which I didn’t eat), and we talked for two hours. I told him all about runestones and Viking mythology and the Heimskringla and he really seemed interested. Then halfway during our talk he reached out and held my hand. I thought I would die!!!!! His hands are so strong and big. Maybe he is THE ONE.
Sept 20
Dear Diary,
WEEKEND!!!!! I’m gonna spent it all in my basement, getting stronger and watching my diet. If you want to be the best, that’s what you have to do.
Sept 22
Dear Diary,
That bitch Debbie got me kicked off as squad one leader!!!!!!!!! I just missed two stupid days! I cried in the bathroom for a half hour. I want to kill her! She talked to Mrs. Meaker and Mrs. Meaker said I wasn’t meeting up to my responsibilities. I hate them both.
Robert waited for me after practice so I had a shoulder to cry on. He even kissed me, but it was only on the cheek. He’s such a doll. He invited me over to his house for dinner, but I lied to him and said my parents already had plans. I couldn’t tell him about the basement. But maybe I will soon.
Sept 23
Dear Diary,
Debbie didn’t come to school today. I wonder why? (Ha!) I asked Mrs. Meaker if I could have my squad leader position back, and she said maybe. She’ll say yes when Debbie misses another practice.
Robert kissed me on the mouth today, for the first time! It was weird and exciting! He even used his tongue!!!!! He’s soooo sophisticated. It was right after practice. He waited for me, and wanted to walk me home. I lied and said my parents didn’t allow visitors. He believed me, and then he leaned over and kissed me. I thought my knees turned to Jell-O. I now know that he is THE ON
E.
Sept 24
Dear Diary,
I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I’ve decided to show Robert the basement. I invited him over after practice and lied and said my parents weren’t home. I said I’d make dinner. He was impressed that I could cook. I didn’t tell him that I couldn’t.
By the time we got to my place it was already getting dark, and Robert said he should call home and check in. But I told him to look at my basement first, because I had a big surprise.
When I turned on the basement light, the hissing started. Robert asked if it was the furnace, and I giggled. Then I pulled the cover off the cages.
Debbie Baker was tied up in the first one, naked, lying in a smelly puddle of her own piss. She twisted and banged her head on the cage door and looked so funny I had to laugh. Robert just stared.
Then I pulled the tarp off the other cage. Margret “Superbitch” Dupont hissed. Sue Ellen Derbin was crying, like always. Sue Ellen had no arms or legs, and was lying naked on the hay I put down for her, which she messed again. Gross! I had to stop feeding her so much dog food.
Superbitch Margret had one stump of an arm left, severed at the elbow. Both had those awful brown scars where I had to burn them to seal the wound after I cut off a limb. I couldn’t let them bleed to death. That wouldn’t be right.
Robert got really freaked out, and I explained to him they were hissing because I cut out their vocal cords. That way they couldn’t attract attention. He turned around and tried to go up the stairs but I had locked the basement door. I told him I thought he was staying for dinner. That’s how you get strong. By eating your enemies. One piece at a time. That’s what my Viking ancestors did. But the people have to be alive when you eat them, or else you don’t ingest their souls. Their souls are what really made you strong. They made me strong. That’s why I was Pom-Pon captain. And that’s why I was going out with the cutest boy in school.
As I explained this to Robert, he started to yell for help. I tried to tell him not to be scared, because he was THE ONE. THE ONE to share this secret with me. Together we could live forever. It was okay. You didn’t have to eat them all at once. You just do it a little bit at a time. I told him I had already eaten my parents. It took two years before I finished the last of Dad.